ACT THREE

A/N: Creepy, isn't it? Be some of you had given up entirely on this being updated. Well ... surprise.

As always, I recommend the actual website over since I have mouse-over coding for the acronyms I use throughout...

His ears would not stop ringing.

Wincing slightly, Trip Tucker looked up from the situation table and speared T'Pol with a questioning look that she casually ignored. Phlox had released her from sickbay earlier despite the tinnitus that had temporarily deafened her with the obviously misplaced expectation she would retire to her quarters while recovering. If he didn't need her expertise so badly, Trip would have ordered her there anyway, abusing both his authority as captain and his rights as her mate if necessary, but instead found himself not only allowing her to continue working but actually encouraging it. That she had worked out a way to use the bond in order to utilize his hearing as her own was nothing short of amazing.

But then, she'd always amazed him, even when she was driving him up the wall.

A chirp from the situation table drew his attention back to it and Trip frowned. Status reports continued to crawl across the display as the security teams checked in at regular intervals to relay their findings. Twenty minutes had passed since the explosion in the computer core, and he couldn't help but to experience a frightening sense of déjà vu at the entire situation. Internal sensors, damaged by the carefully placed explosive, were currently offline, forcing Lieutenant Commander Eisler's teams to sweep the ship manually for additional hints of sabotage, much like the tactical officer had wanted to do at Thor's Cradle all those months ago.

Almost the moment that the explosion occurred, Tucker had issued orders to the rest of strike group to place all of the Vulcans capable of being moved out of sickbay into confinement. So far, five of them remained unaccounted for, with three of those potential threats aboard Endeavour herself. Movement through the NC-06 was strictly limited, and Commander Eisler had already instructed division chiefs to arm their personnel just in case their saboteur made a suicidal end-run. Engineering was sealed off entirely, and other mission critical locations – the bridge (both of them), sickbay, the Armoury – were locked down so tight that it was becoming difficult to coordinate with other parts of the ship.

Which was probably Eisler's intention in the first place.

"I hate this," Trip muttered as he stared at the display before him. He was a hands-on leader, someone who liked to inspire by actions and deeds, and this sitting around while others went into harm's way bothered him no matter how much he knew it was in everyone's best interests. T'Pol cocked an eyebrow as she looked up and met his eyes.

"Commander Eisler is a more than competent officer," she said. Without the benefit of being able to hear herself, her voice was strangely off-key and high-pitched, as if she had inhaled a breath of helium and it was wearing off. An expression of annoyance washed across her features for less than a heartbeat as she took in what she sounded like through his ears, and she clenched her teeth together so tightly that the muscles in her jaw were visible.

"You sound fine," he told her. If anything, she grimaced even harder.

"Say again, Telemachus," Lieutenant Devereux ordered, her own voice drifting across the relatively quiet bridge. "Acknowledged. I will relay to Endeavour Actual." Trip frowned deeply and glanced in his communication officer's direction as he suddenly recognized the similarities between how she and T'Pol sounded. Ever since she returned to active duty following her injury at the battle of Acheron, Marie's voice had seemed different somehow, though he hadn't really given it as much thought as he should have. Now, in retrospect, Tucker realized why she sounded different.

There was something wrong with her hearing.

He exchanged a glance with T'Pol, noting instantly the way her own eyes seemed to have turned inward as she reflected upon her own admittedly brief interactions with Lieutenant Devereux over the last few weeks. Self-recrimination flickered across her face but was gone almost before he saw it; as the first officer, the safety and well-being of the crew was her first priority, yet Trip knew she blamed herself for not recognizing the lieutenant's symptoms sooner.

"Captain," Devereux called out, "Telemachus is reporting they have the remaining two Vulcans accounted for and are moving them to the brig."

"Good," Trip replied. He glanced at T'Pol and she nodded in agreement with his unspoken plan. "A word in my office, Lieutenant Devereux," he said as turned toward the door leading to the converted systems analysis room. T'Pol was a silent shadow, less than a half step behind him. "Miss Ricker," he said, pausing to glance at the senior lieutenant manning the science station, "you have the bridge."

Once inside the office, Trip drew in a steadying breath and dropped into the chair behind his desk. He leaned forward slightly, interlocking his fingers together as if he were praying though his dark frown was clear indication he wasn't. T'Pol drew abreast of him without comment, her hands clasped together at the small of her back, and adopted her most forbidding expression, the one that reminded anyone looking at her that she was not human. This would be the first thing Devereux saw when she entered and it would send an immediate signal that this was no joking matter.

Marie's eyes widened fractionally at their calculated stances but recovered quickly and assumed a position of attention directly in front of the desk.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," she said and Trip's expression darkened slightly. Now that he knew what to listen for, it was impossible not to tell that something was wrong.

"What's wrong with your hearing, Marie?" Tucker asked without preamble. The lieutenant froze and her eyes darted away, as if she were considering deceit, before visibly deflating.

"I don't know, sir," Devereux replied. "It's been bothering me off and on since Acheron."

"And Starfleet Medical released you?" Trip demanded, anger bubbling up from his belly.

"Not exactly, sir," the lieutenant said sheepishly. "I sort of checked myself out so I could return to Endeavour."

"That was not logical," T'Pol pointed out. "You may have worsened your condition by not completing the medical treatments."

"My family is here, ma'am," Marie said. "I don't have anyone left and I wanted to be here where I could help." Trip winced in understanding. He wished he could say he was surprised, but Command had passed on dozens of similar such incidents throughout the fleet as wounded veterans did whatever they could to return to their duty stations and stand alongside their brothers and sisters in arms; the bond forged in battle was a powerful one, and he had to silently admit that he had done the same thing when he was younger, especially during the Xindi mission. How many times had he skipped out of an appointment with Phlox so he could focus on keeping Enterprise from imploding and not let down his fellow officers and crewmen? Hell, hadn't he been back down in engineering barely a week after having brain surgery? Despite his silent admiration of her dedication to duty, though, Trip Tucker wasn't the one in charge.

Captain Tucker was.

"While I admire your loyalty to Endeavour," he said slowly, "Commander T'Pol is correct. We need you at one hundred percent and if you can't do that…"

"Doctor Phlox is aware of your condition?" T'Pol asked abruptly. When Devereux hesitantly nodded, Trip felt a flare of fury that he quickly suppressed. Memory of how infuriated he had been when he discovered the Denobulan concealed T'Pol's addiction pushed at his self-control, and Tucker lowered his hands to the table.

"He hasn't kept it from you, sir," Marie rushed to explain, evidently seeing the anger in Trip's eyes. "I just saw him about it this morning. He hadn't finished with my diagnosis when we went to battle stations." Tucker relaxed slightly before glancing at T'Pol.

"Who's on bridge duty?" he asked, grateful that he didn't have to explain that he was talking about the security teams.

"Senior Chief Petty Officer Mitchell," she replied instantly. Trip nodded and glanced down at the integrated comm. panel embedded within the desk. With his right finger, he tapped the small screen, bringing up the crew roster. Another tap narrowed the list of names, and he scrolled through them to find STAB team leader. Double clicking on the man's name opened a direct communications line to the security noncomm's helmet set.

"STAB Six," came Mitchell's almost immediate response.

"This is Tucker," Trip said. "In about five minutes, Lieutenant Devereux is going to be heading to sickbay. I want you to make sure she gets there without any problems."

"Wilco, sir," the senior chief petty officer replied. "I'll see to it personally."

"Thank you. Tucker out." Trip pressed the END button and glanced back up at Marie. "I want a full report from Phlox as soon as he's done," he ordered. "If anybody can whip up a miracle cure for you, it's him."

"And if there isn't one?" Devereux asked in a heart-breaking tone of voice.

"Don't borrow trouble," Trip answered. He gave her a smile. "Phlox can do some amazin' things, Lieutenant."

"He should know," T'Pol interjected. "The captain was more often than not Doctor Phlox's primary patient while aboard Enterprise."

"With you holding onto the number two spot," he retorted quickly. "So if he can keep the two of us alive," Trip said, directing his comments to Marie, "fixing your ears will be a piece of cake."

"Yes, sir." Devereux squared her shoulders. "Will that be all, sir?" she asked. Trip nodded.

"It will," he replied. "Dismissed." The moment she vanished through the door, Tucker was activating the comm.-line again. The answer was instantaneous.

"This is Phlox."

"I'm sending Lieutenant Devereux down to see you, Doc," Trip said as T'Pol walked to the front of his desk and lowered herself into the seat there.

"Ah," the Denobulan replied. "She did speak to you then? I warned her that I would have to tell you the moment I found out, but she insisted on waiting until we had something more definite."

"What do you have, Phlox?" Tucker asked.

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," the doctor said. "From my preliminary examination," he reported, "it appears that the vestibulocochlear nerve has been damaged and she is suffering from sensorineural hearing loss."

"Can you fix it?"

"Possibly, but I won't know until I've been able to complete my examination." Trip was surprised at the sudden anger in the Denobulan's voice. "Starfleet Medical should have detected this injury," he growled, "and I intend to have words with the fools who let her leave."

"You and me both, Doc." Trip exchanged a grim look with his mate. "Keep me informed, Phlox. Tucker out."

"What will you do if the doctor cannot repair this damage?" T'Pol asked softly. Tucker closed his eyes.

"What I have to," he replied.